


Sweet Troubled Soul

by ianthewaiting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Post Hogwarts AU, Submission, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianthewaiting/pseuds/ianthewaiting
Summary: Hermione Granger, the libertine, plays another game with the last man on her list of conquests. The problem, however, comes down to who is playing with whom





	1. Chapter 1

She kept glancing over her shoulder, noting the light of a new day’s sun beginning to creep across the marble floor and closer to her toes curled into the sheep skin rug at the side of the bed.  The sunlight would eventually illuminate the bed, and the body that laid with its back to her across the bed with only a rumpled white sheet covering the lower half a male form.

 

She kept glancing over her shoulder just to see his shoulders shift as he breathed deeply in his sleep and the rippling of muscles under scarred skin.  Those scars were a hideous reminder of a time she could only hope to forget—and she felt a bit bitter that he would not claim remember those times at all.   In her internal dialogues she would whisper:  “Oh, how wonderful to be mad.”

 

She glanced away and leaned forward so that her bare backside was barely resting upon the edge of the plush mattress.  Reaching for the brown wrapped cigarillo resting in the notch of a dirty glass ashtray, she magicked the end lit without taking up her wand and soon she could no longer smell the scent of sex, only a mixture of tobacco and cloves.  She knew that his keen nose would wake him, but she did not care too much, she only ever smoked them because he had them around.  Inhaling the smooth smoke, she exhaled through her nose in two bluish streams of scented aroma.  She wanted a shower, a bite of something substantial, and then a long sleep in bed, alone.

 

“Put that bloody thing out, Granger,” he growled, shifting slightly so that his body was poised facedown, silver hair falling across the pillows like liquid platinum.  She glanced back at him with a scowl and quickly snubbed the crooked filtered cigarillo out.  It was clear that the alcohol he had consumed had worn off and his general foul mood had returned upon his waking.

 

“Are you staying the day?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow pressed against his face.

 

It was a question he always asked the morning after…

 

“No,” she said softly, somewhat annoyed that her need for a bit of a morning nicotine pick-me-up had ruined the peaceful silence of his sleeping.  Now that he was awake, she could no longer admire how he slept.  In sleep, Draco Malfoy was like a fallen angel of light and purity.  Awake, however, the madness, the darkness and all the things that made Draco Malfoy, bastard extraordinaire, was blindingly visible.

 

Everyone hated Draco Malfoy, everyone being his family, his business associates, and old schoolmates, past lovers and freed house elves.  However, when anyone asked Hermione Granger what she thought of Draco Malfoy, the only reply a person would receive would be an indifferent shrug.  When pressed, Hermione Granger would admit to Draco’s brilliant madness, business savvy, and to only a few of those truly curious, his sexual prowess.

 

Publicly, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were business rivals.  Privately, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were rivals of another sort.  In business, it did not matter one bit who had made the better profit or if the Muggles bought or sold their shares.  But privately, they played a game in which the ‘winner’ meant ‘superior’ and for some reason or another, Hermione Granger had never given up proving that she, a Muggle-born witch, was superior in wit, competence and power to a Pureblooded wizard, perhaps the most prolific Pureblood in Britain, Draco Malfoy.

 

The games varied, but the theme was the same.  Who could woo, and bed the most prolific, the most scandalous, the richest, or the best loved figures in Wizarding Britain.  Points were awarded for various displays and acts, and in the end, whoever won the game was allowed a reward from the one who had lost.

 

This was the third time Hermione had won. 

 

The game had gone thus:  Hermione was to bed Percy Weasley, the youngest Chief Warlock in Wizengamot history.  Draco Malfoy was to work on wooing Percy’s wife of ten years, the devout and the “far more clever than she looks” Penelope Weasley nee Clearwater.  In a game of flirtation, insinuation, flattery and wanton displays of sexual need, Hermione won by a landslide by bedding a very amorous Percy, finding herself a bit overwhelmed by his passionate lovemaking.  It was apparent that fidelity meant chastity to Penelope Weasley.  Hermione was delighted by Percy’s sudden turn from self-restraint to debauchery.  Passion suited Percy and Hermione wondered if she had to let liaisons with Percy Weasley become a fond memory like a few others she had had to tempt into promiscuity for her own gains.

 

Her reward:  Bedding Draco Malfoy in a manner in which she desired.  Humiliating Draco Malfoy had always been her goal, but the night before was the first time she had allowed herself to experience simple pleasure from him. Bedding Draco Malfoy had been every bit exhilarating and satisfying as she imagined. But…she wanted more.  Of the past two times of winning at Draco Malfoy’s games, Hermione had asked for only material rewards, the first being the buyout of an Australian wholesaler of rare herbs, which was Malfoy’s main foothold in the southern hemisphere.  The second reward had been access to the Malfoy archives, a compendium of Dark texts that had escaped the scrutiny of the Ministry before and during the War.

 

It had been after an evening with Percy Weasley that Hermione named her terms, if Draco should lose.  Just before pushing Percy Weasley to betray his wife, Hermione came to the conclusion that even though she was winning this round of the game, she had had just about every prolific male in Wizarding society, bar Severus Snape who constituted scandal, and Draco Malfoy, the most eligible and most handsome bachelor in society.  Granted, Hermione had many plans and ideas for the now reclusive Severus Snape, she wanted to have a taste of her rival for the sake of satiating her curiosity.  It was no secret among the ladies, young and old, or Wizarding Britain that Draco Malfoy was far more talented in attracting the eye than his father—and supposedly was far more endowed in the arts of love making than Lucius Malfoy could have ever dreamed to be…  And so, Hermione wanted to know, and finally prove to her rival that she was to be respected, feared and loved by even the Pureblooded sensibilities of a man who was not her superior and perhaps her equal. But, even after a night of intense lovemaking, Hermione was still wanting—she had not won, somehow, and Malfoy’s question as to her staying only reminded her of what she had yet to prove.

 

Hermione and Draco’s continuing game of “one upping” the other lent to many nights spent in each other’s company, whether at the Manor in Wiltshire or at Hermione’s lavish townhouse in London.  The companionship that had developed had also lent to subtle insinuations, blatant flirting, as well as many witty retorts and well phrased insults.  But it was those conversations, glances, and playful touches as they lounged about their respective homes that had perhaps fueled a mutual regard.  They had agreed never to fall in love with any of their conquests and most important of all:  each other.

 

Draco, as far as Hermione knew, had won the hidden heart of Ginny Weasley (soon to be Potter), Luna Lovegood (much to the surprise of Hermione and apparent disgust of Malfoy), Katie Bell-Flint (far too easy, it seemed), and Cho Chang.  There were a handful of others that were no challenge at all, all now embittered by Draco’s lack of care or interest.  Hermione had only lost money when all was said and done, and her modesty.  She had become wanton, and proud.

 

And now she finally had undeniable power over Draco Malfoy…almost.

 

Finding her wand among a tangle of clothing, Hermione cast a quick Cleansing Charm over her skin and hair, standing before the large window in Draco’s bedroom, the sun now beating down on her golden skin.  With a sigh and another flick of her wand, she donned her clothing, quickly mending the rip up the side of her dress and forgoing the torn stockings, Vanishing them quickly.  Glancing over her shoulder once more, Hermione found Draco watching her, the sheet sliding over his thigh as he lay on his back, his jutting morning erection pointing toward her like a beckoning finger.

 

“What?” she asked lazily, slowly looking away and about the marble floor for her shoes.

 

“Why the rush?” he asked in return, his voice husky and enticing.

 

“It is Saturday morning, and I have work to look over, a house to manage, a summer solstice gala to oversee and much more that I really don’t want to think about right now…” she rattled off.

 

“Your assistants are doing that, Granger.  Come back to bed.”

 

Hermione stood very still.  She never would have imagined Draco, of all people, to ask her to come back to bed…and had he been anyone else, if _she_ had been anyone else, it would not have irked her.

 

“It is daybreak, Malfoy,” she sighed, tucking her wand under her arm to pull her hair back from her face and up into a makeshift knot.

 

When her male companion did not reply, Hermione glanced over her shoulder again, her eyes suddenly riveted on the scene of a supine Draco Malfoy stroking himself while using his other hand to beckon her with a wagging finger.

 

Scenes of the night before flitted through Hermione’s brain and before she could consciously react, she felt her thighs begin to rub together and the dampness of her center begin to be the foremost sensation in her mind.  Draco Malfoy knew how to touch her, and when she had time, she would consider the gravity of that… She turned to face him and the massive platform that Draco Malfoy called a bed, which was swathed in white and ivory sheets and pillows.  Plain crates served as side tables, oddly misplaced in a room with a titanic bed, jade green marble floors, cream velvet papered walls and large windows that overlooked the brown-green roll of plain of Wiltshire outside.  And only the night before the room had been bathed in the light of dozens of floating candles, adding to the warm ambience of sex, sweat and the slap of skin against skin.  They had collapsed, drunk and exhausted, and now as Draco smirked, quirking his pale lips, Hermione felt her knees begin to tremble.

 

Hermione sighed and tried to arrange her face to appear disinterested, but she stumbled toward the bed as if Imperio’d.  Slowly she moved to kneel at the foot of the bed, far enough away so that Malfoy could not touch her, but close enough that Hermione could see the tiny beads of sweat gathering just at Malfoy’s brow.

 

“Is there something you needed, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice impassive, and bored, but her center aching as she watched the velvety skin of his shaft roll over the glans and then back down again, giving Hermione a small peek at the pearl drop of pre-come glinting on the reddish head of his cock.

 

“I hate to ask a favor, Granger…” he breathed, his voice deep,  “because we both know that if I ask a favor then you’ll feel obliged to do the same…and then a vicious cycle would…start,” Draco panted, his lips trembling slightly as his grip tightened.  “But you’re the only one who can assist me at the moment…”

 

Hermione smirked.  “It looks as though you have a firm handle on the situation, Malfoy.”

 

His eyes flashed in mirth, but no laugh passed his haughty lips, only a low and frustrated moan.

 

“Granger…”

 

“Yes, Malfoy?” she asked, her mouth dry as she watched the muscles in his stomach tighten.

 

“Pull the skirt of that dress up a bit…” he breathed, his body stiffening, his eyes threatening to slam shut.

 

Hermione nearly groaned at the sight of him, and suddenly sub vocalized a spell, which made Draco Malfoy grunt and nearly yell.  His hands were forced off his jutting cock and bound by invisible fetters above his head.  Draco’s eyes flashed in the early morning sunlight and he writhed upon the sheets, his legs stiffening and pale, hairless chest heaving.  Hermione found herself grinning maliciously, moving to crawl the distance between where she had been sitting and where Draco lay exposed.  She crawled up his legs to kneel just at his knees.

 

“I thought we had agreed to no magic, Granger, besides a contraception spell?” Draco snarled, quickly breaking free from the spell that bound him.  However, before he could consider either throwing Hermione off his legs or deriding her verbally, she lifted the short skirt of her little black dress thus rendering Draco Malfoy still as if struck by a Pertrificus Totalus.

 

A moment passed and Hermione could not help but feel a surge of power course through her body, heightening her own arousal.  Slowly, breaking through Hermione’s spell, Draco’s hands moved down his body, his left hand taking hold of his straining cock and his right running across his left nipple.  Tongue snaking out to wet his lips, Hermione could take no more, her blood demanding that she act.

 

With a gentle slap, Hermione took Draco’s prick in her hand, her small hand just fitting about the girth.  A groan passed from his mouth and she began stroking him, wrist moving just the way she had seen his move, applying steady pressure as she rolled his skin over the head of his cock.

 

“Yes…very good…” he moaned, his pale lashes fluttering downwards so that his silvery eyes shut tight, his brow furrowing.

 

Hermione frowned and halted her ministrations, her hand tight around the base of his thick cock.  It did not take a moment that Draco’s silver eyes were upon her again, questioning.

 

“Look at me, Malfoy,” she muttered, her own eyes narrowing. 

 

His eyes were liquid mercury, swirling with something akin to emotion, but what emotion that was, Hermione did not know.  All she did know was that by forcing him to watch her masturbate him, Draco Malfoy could not block her out and perhaps replace her visage with one more pleasing to his mind and body.  No, it would be she that would make him beg her to impale herself upon him, it would be she that he would call out for, it would be she that left him spent and quivering with sated exhaustion.

 

He tensed and Hermione felt his cock jerk in her hand, she did not want him to lose control yet.

 

Tongue swiping slightly swollen lips, Hermione leaned forward so that her damp lips rubbed the sticky pre-come about the head of his cock, making him groan and grip her shoulders as if to pull her closer or to push her away.  Opening her lips, her tongue darted out to taste him; her eyes watching his face contort at the simplest of actions.

 

“Granger…” he groaned as her mouth descended around his straining cock, engulfing him in a warm, wet cavern of suction and pulsating tongue.  She swallowed at his flesh, the pre-come slightly bitter, and his skin salty.  Moving her tongue and suckling, Hermione could feel the subtle movements and twitches of Draco’s cock pulsating in her mouth.  The sound of his pleasure was gasoline on her already smoldering arousal.  And when his moans turned into throaty whines, she felt his hands pushing at her shoulders, pushing her back so that his cock left her mouth with a slight pop.

 

Draco was gasping, his hands quivering as they fell to his straining member, taking it in hand.  Hermione smirked, leaning forward so that her hands fell to either side of Draco’s shoulders, holding herself above him.  He gazed up at her face, her disheveled hair falling about her like a cropped curtain of caramel.

 

“Think you’re so bad…Granger?” Draco breathed, recovering himself enough to reach upward and wipe a bit more of his pre-come over her pouty lips.

 

Hermione chuckled, taking Draco forefinger between her teeth and applying a bit of pressure so that he winced. 

 

“I am,” she whispered after releasing his fine boned digit.  “Let me show you…”

 

A silvery eyebrow cocked at the haughty words and the shimmer of fire in amber eyes.  Hermione sat back on Draco’s knees, pulling her dress up over her body, throwing the mass of fabric back to where it had lain when she had awoke, on the floor.  Throwing back her head, Hermione moved her hips forward, still cased in a pair of sheer black underwear, until her pubis was just below Draco’s sac.

 

Again, Draco found his hands forced above his head, the twinkle of fire in Hermione’s eye a sign of her magic, strong, refined, and if another test, unbreakable.  Draco swallowed thickly, his chest jutting upward.  Hermione hummed deep in her throat, running her hands down Draco’s chest, nails biting into his sides leaving pink trails behind.

 

“Let me show you, my dear Mr. Malfoy…” she whispered, her left hand moving to grasp the base of her lover’s cock and her right to grasp his sac.  With a rough squeeze, Draco groaned, his face contorting.

 

“B-bitch!” he stuttered, struggling against his invisible fetters.

 

Hermione grinned, releasing his cock, and with a speed that frightened Draco Malfoy to the very core, he was slapped roughly across the face.  He was seeing spots before his eyes, his nose crammed against his right forearm from the force of the strike.

 

“That was not very nice, Mr. Malfoy…or very wise…” Hermione ground out between her teeth.

 

Draco hissed, his eyes burning into Hermione’s.  But the most humiliating thing, the thing that had not went unnoticed from the siren sitting upon his thighs, was the violent twitch of his cock.  He could not be any harder, and although he could taste just a bit of blood in his mouth, he said nothing in retort.

 

Hermione smirked, taking Draco’s prick in her hand again, grasping the base with painful pressure.  “Oh the things I would love to do to you, Mr. Malfoy…” she breathed, moving her hand up and down his engorged cock, her own sex soaking through the sheer fabric and dampening Draco’s sac.

 

Draco swallowed roughly, his mouth open so that he panted.  “And…and what sort of things would you like to do, Granger?”

 

She stopped stroking for a moment and met his eyes.  “Would you like to find out?”

 

Draco hesitated.  He could always have his way with the witch later, claiming it was fair play.  It was had always been the “eye for an eye” credo between the two of them.  Not to mention that Draco had an idea that Hermione Granger had a bit of expertise when it came to dominating men, and he had never indulged in letting any woman dominate him.  He could not think of any women who had enough courage to approach him in that way, no one besides Hermione Granger.

 

“Show me,” he said thickly, his intonation tinged with what Hermione interpreted as a dare.

 

Oh yes…  Draco Malfoy was daring her to take the upper hand, daring her to show him that she could reduce him into a quivering mass of sex and come.

 

“You asked for it, Mr. Malfoy, do not forget that…”

 

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but found himself being pulled to his feet and off the bed.  His hands were suddenly free, and only a second of thought to escaping crossed his mind.  Hermione, on the other hand, retrieved her wand and began Transfiguring the room, charming the drapes shut, transforming the bed into what Draco recognized as a wooden X-cross, a Saint Andrew’s cross, if he remembered correctly.  He had remembered auctioning off his father’s version of the torture device several years ago, after cleaning out the Malfoy Manor dungeons.  He knew how it could be used, but as Hermione moved quickly, Conjuring a table laden with coils of rope, crops, whips and other devices that Draco did not want to think about penetrating his body, he began to feel his apprehension grow.

 

“Accio…” Hermione hissed, and Draco found himself sliding magically across the room and closer to the wooden cross.

 

“Granger, this is…” he muttered as his arms and legs were shackled to the device and his body opened to whatever designs the woman might have.  When Draco studied Hermione, he found himself still wanting to touch her…to have her touch him…

 

So he stood, his taut and bare body exposed to his rival and lover, waiting to be touched.

 

“One word and I will stop.  You asked for this, but I will stop if you say ‘niffler,’ and I will Obliviate this encounter from your mind,” Hermione said quietly, moving so close to Draco, her body bare except for the damp sheer knickers, that he could feel her heat against his skin.  “Do you understand?”

 

The room was darkened by the drapes over the windows, but still, in the gray light, he could see Hermione’s fiery eyes.  He nodded his understanding and leaned out from the rough wood against his back, but as Hermione stepped back, her bare feet making no sound against the marble floor, Draco watched as she moved her wand with a cutting gesture through the air.

 

With a gasp, the cross that bound Draco moved, and he was lying atop the X-cross now floating in the air horizontally, he could not avoid pressing his skin against the rough grain of the wood now.

 

Above his body, candles appeared and lit, making Draco narrow his eyes slightly, and turn his head to look at the woman who had him at her mercy.  She was breathing roughly, not out of exertion, but out of desire.  When she noticed Draco’s cool gaze upon her, she smiled, genuinely smiled.

 

“Are you surprised, Mr. Malfoy?”

 

“Why do you keep calling me that, Granger?” he breathed, testing his physical restraints, finding them secure and not too comfortable.

 

“It is your name, isn’t it?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“And I don’t like you well enough to call you by your first name, besides; you always call me Granger…”

 

Draco’s eyes widened as with one hand Hermione gathered a coil of rope, hemp by the looks of it and dyed a color that did not lose its significance on Draco—Gryffindor red.  She waved her wand over the scarlet cord, and Draco could not help but repress a shudder as the rope seemed to take on a life of its own, moving on its own volition like a snake and uncoiling from Hermione’s hand.

 

“What are you…” Draco began as the rope slithered toward him atop the floating X-cross.  He said nothing, holding his breath as the rope reared upwards between his legs, the braided tip of the rope curling like the head of a cobra to look at him.

 

Hermione stepped closer to Draco’s exposed side.  Her eyes were shimmering and she grinned as the rope moved with lightning speed and Draco groaned his surprise as the rope wrapped around the base of his sac, constricting his comfort, but not pinching or cutting off circulation entirely.  He was panting as the length of rope moved under the cross and wrapped about his chest.

 

“This rigging is designed to hurt you if you should struggle too much, Mr. Malfoy.  The rope about your chest is cinched so that if your body should flail or you arch too much from the cross, the slack between your chest and your balls with tighten, thus pulling your balls uncomfortably…keep that in mind, Mr. Malfoy…”  Hermione said calmly, her hand moving over his chest with ghostly caresses.  The cross floated as high as her hips, and Draco caught the sight of dampness leaking from between her legs and down the insides of her thighs.

 

Draco tested his new bondage by breathing deeply and arching so that his shoulders came up off the cross.  He winced, the rope wrapped around his balls moving slightly so that his sac was stretched.  It would not do to have rope burn around his dangly bits, he thought.  He let his head fall back between the crossing arms and sighed shallowly.  He knew his cock was throbbing and standing upright like an entity of its own.  And now Granger was moving back to the table she had cleverly Conjured—what had he gotten himself into?

 

When Hermione returned, stepping into the halo of candlelight over the X-cross, Draco tensed his body and held his breath.  He was expecting to be caned, whipped even, but when Hermione stepped in between his legs, gazing at his painfully erect penis, he did not expect the woman to take his cock into her mouth.  He shouted at the initial sensation, the hot cavern of Hermione Granger’s mouth opening to take his entire length.  He wanted to come, he wanted loose from his bonds, and he wanted to punish the witch for denying him the power to take control of the situation.

 

Hermione pulled away, a string of saliva stretching from the tip of his cock to her lips.  She hummed her pleasure, her eyes hooded and her breath hitching slightly.  Draco opened his mouth to speak, almost to say the word to stop this torture, but he could not make a sound.  Pushing her thick, luxurious hair from her eyes, Hermione muttered a spell that caused Draco to gasp, his insides tingling, and then Hermione took him into her mouth again.

 

It was almost too much, and Draco found himself arching and panting automatically.  The rope was pulling his sac to send little waves of pleasurable pain up his spine to his brain.  He could not think of the anatomical reactions clearly, but it was a new experience.

 

Then, beyond the suction of Hermione Granger’s gorgeous mouth, the tugging on his sac, Draco felt another sensation, alien and slightly alarming…

 

He moaned as he felt a cool, wet digit swirl around the edges of his ass, the light caress making him jerk.  He could just feel a cool, small hand under his aching sac, and he could just feel the smooth slather of lube on the underside of his ass cheeks.  Her small hand was massaging his perineum, the underside of his sac and then the tight pucker of his ass.  He could not speak, could not protest as he felt the digit push inwards and into his passage. 

 

“Grang…” he started, but could not finish as the sensation of pressure gave way to more ripples of pleasure. 

 

Hermione pulled her mouth away with a large gasp.  She was positively drunk with what she was doing, her forefinger halfway down to the second knuckle in Draco Malfoy’s luscious ass and his body powerless to stop it.  His head was resting against his upper arm instead of falling between the cross arms, his long silvery hair hanging almost to the floor.  His muscular chest was rippling, the rope tightening and loosening, tugging at his sac, which was slightly red from the motion.  She had made sure that he would not truly be hurt, Merlin forbid she damage the Malfoy heir making equipment…

 

Adding a second slick finger, Hermione grasped his erection and tugged slightly, eliciting a strangled groan from the patrician throat of the most eligible Pureblood in all of Britain.  She could feel her body react to Draco’s voice and as she began thrusting her fingers in and out of his ass, not too deeply, not to hard, but increasing speed with every gasp that came from his body. 

 

He was not protesting, and Hermione pushed a little deeper, stretching his ass and nudging a spot that caused Draco to arch violently.  The prostate…  His cock twitched, so engorged and so painfully hard that Draco’s mouth was moving to beg the witch to suck him off, but no words came.

 

She began massaging his prostate, alternating curling her fingers and thrusting just past it and deeper inside.  Hermione was literally dripping, but could not stop to pull off her underwear just yet.  The power to reduce Draco Malfoy to her ‘bitch’ was far too distracting. 

 

She wanted to fuck his ass until he came all over himself.  She wanted to hear him whimper, hear him beg…and the thought of what she could have him do made her withdraw.  Draco whined at the loss, and Hermione smirked.

 

“Damnit, Granger, where are you going?” Draco snarled as Hermione walked away from the bottom of the X-cross inhaling deeply and admiring the pale angel on the cross before her.  She could not wipe the smile from her face as she moved back to the table, snatching up two items, glancing at the shivering, pale body of Draco Malfoy.  He was sweating, his cock beginning to flag from lack of attention.  Hermione reminded herself that the next time Draco Malfoy’s cock would be used, it would be to get her off…

 

Returning to the bottom of the cross, Draco raised his head to look at his partner, trying to see what she had had in her arms when she walked back to him.  What he could not see as Hermione knelt on the floor and out Draco’s line of sight was that she had brought a bottle of lube and a toy to keep her Mr. Malfoy amused.  It was her turn to be pleasured.

 

Draco’s voice rang out in the deepest of moans as he felt something penetrate his body deeply, slick and cool.  In the still mostly coherent portion of his brain, Draco was cursing Hermione for daring to use some toy in his ass, but those thoughts were quickly rendered invalid when a switch was activated and waves of vibrations impacted his prostate and rippled up his body.

 

“F-fuck…” he grunted. 

 

Hermione was satisfied with the small vibrating plug and the twitching in Draco’s thighs.  She moved slowly around the cross, noting that Draco’s eyes were shut tightly and his mouth agape, taking in deep breaths, the baritone of his voice coming through in his exhales.  He could not look more exquisite in her eyes.

 

“How does it feel, Mr. Malfoy?  Is climax just within reach or is it not close enough?” Hermione whispered lustily, bending closer to Draco’s ear, noticing that his bound hands were clenching and unclenching.  She could tell he was close, but she was not going to ignore her aching need any longer.  “Well?  Tell me Mr. Malfoy, are you close?”

 

Draco’s eyes opened, but he could not speak.  A pressure was building at the base of his spine, a hot liquid fire, and it was smoldering.  He wanted to come before his body exploded.  His whole body was shuddering, and as he turned his head toward Hermione, he muttered a strangled curse, straining at his bonds to touch her, to complete the circuit, to climax.

 

Hermione cocked her head and smirked, “Do you want to touch me?” she asked, crossing her arms just under her breasts.  Her nipples were hardened and she was barely keeping herself from muttering the spell to release the glorious pale man bound before her.  As she waited, her mind was begging him to say yes, that he wanted to touch her.

 

“Gods…Granger…yes…” he panted, sweat pouring down his face, his lips quivering.

 

Hermione smiled, barring her teeth like a feral she-beast.  Draco shut his silver eyes as he felt the frame under his body lower to the floor, and waited for the bonds to be loosened…and waited…and waited.

 

He felt as if his head were going to implode and when he opened his eyes, there was a sensation of weight upon his hips.  Hermione knelt over him, grasping his cock and positioning it at her entrance, the sheer knickers gone.

 

“Do you want me?” she gasped, gazing down at the man who had at times been the bane of her existence.

 

“Y-yessss,” Draco choked, straining and finding that the noose about balls was loosened and he could strain all he liked without damage.  But as he moved more, the vibrations from his ass seemed to increase, rendering him incapable of coherent thought or motive.

 

With his assent, Hermione sank down, impaling herself swiftly and deeply.  Draco hissed the sudden engulfing of his sensitive cock making his hips jerk automatically.  Hermione sighed, slapping her palms down on his chest causing him to wince.

 

“Mmmm, you’re so big, Mr. Malfoy…” Hermione breathed, rising up slowly and slamming back down.  Her fingers dug into Draco’s chest, nails digging into skin, breaking the porcelain perfection and causing blood to ooze.  Riding his prick, she moaned at every stroke, at every furrowing of Draco’s pale brow, every open mouthed, silent scream, all combined, Hermione froze as her body clinched around the hardened rod inside her body.  She screamed her release, deep and throaty.  She could feel Draco’s climax, so forceful, so strong that it almost hurt…

 

Draco, on the other hand, passed out and the sensation of his release.

 

Sensory overload was what he would attribute it to, as well as the fact Hermione Granger was one sadistic bitch.

 

When he came to, he was in bed, the plug removed from his ass, the reminder of the bounds around his wrists and ankles evident by the deep bruising, and the scratches on his chest clotted over and angry red.  He also noticed that he was alone, the only trace of Hermione Granger being the snubbed out cigarillo in the ashtray by the bed, the scent of the fragrant smoke still filling the air.

 

Draco wiped hair from his face and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.  If it had not been for the marks, he could almost convince himself that his humiliation could have been a very bad dream.

 

The stakes had been raised, Granger had gotten her way, but Draco could not deny that he had asked for it.  He remembered uttering the words, daring her to do her worst…

 

Yes, the stakes had been raised and Granger would soon learn what it would be to humiliate a Malfoy, albeit in the privacy of his own bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus Snape believed, now after so many years, Hermione Granger was certifiably insane.  How else could he explain what she was doing that very moment, gazing across a table loaded with an overpriced meal, a glass of merlot in her hand, her eyes devouring him in the candle lit restaurant in Muggle London.

 

Granted, it was nice to have such a good meal for once, but what he was seeing in her amber eyes made him tense and set his crooked teeth on edge.  He was starting to see what she was trying to do, and he cursed himself mentally because it was beginning to work.

 

The waiter came to clear away the second course, about to bring the main, when she spoke to him directly for the first time since they had sat down.

 

“How have you been, Severus?”

 

Her voice was melodic, and contrasted starkly by the way her eyes shimmered. He could just see the curve of her left breast past the draping black material of her dress and he tried to keep his eyes away from that area.  She had grown up to be a devastatingly beautiful woman, he had to admit, but she was still so young to his middle aged eyes.

 

“Well enough, Hermione,” he muttered, accenting her first name.

 

How dare she call him by his first name!  They had never held each other’s confidence so much as to speak to each other informally.  But then again, after the War, it had been Hermione who had helped him slip into semi-peaceful existence as a recluse, rich and never bothered much with faces of his past that still wished him ill.  That was part of the reason why he knew he could not afford to refuse Hermione Granger the invitation to dinner.  She nearly owned him, the approval of his patents, and the profits from the sales of his potions; all of it was because of her.  He was an absentee employee in her firm, although great pains had been made to conceal this fact.  But she knew as well as he did that he owed her much…

 

“I hadn’t heard much for you in a while, no memos, no owls, I was beginning to worry that you had come across some ‘snafu’ somewhere, or you just were avoiding having to deal with me,” Hermione murmured sweetly, so sweetly that Severus felt his stomach twist painfully.

 

This woman was a mystery, as were most women to Severus, but she was a woman clothed in handsome clothes, lightly scented with jasmine, hair finally tamed and cut shorter than he recalled, eyes confident and mouth soft and prone to the cruelest of smiles.  Since when had Hermione Granger been so tainted and so seductive?

 

“My research has consumed most of my time, and my assistant left me for a better job,” Severus uttered acidly.

 

“Why didn’t you owl me?  I could have helped in some way.”

 

Severus forced a smile.  He knew that if he didn’t play his cards right he would lose all of his funding, and he would have to go back to teaching—that was, if Minerva would ever consent to let him set foot in Hogwarts again.  He had no real friends, he never had, and allies were in short order.

 

“Frye was incompetent, and it was my mistake that I hired the fool.  I know how exacting and perturbing I can be, Hermione.  It would be something short of a miracle that I would find an assistant who suited my strict work ethic.”

 

Hermione sipped from her glass, all the while smiling.

 

“I could be persuaded to help, Severus…if you asked me.”

 

He narrowed his onyx eyes.  “Why would you do something like that?  You own…” he began, but stopped as the waiter returned to set the main course before them. 

 

“It is suffocating me, and besides, I have plenty of people that can take care of business for a while.  I have a large investment with you, Severus, and I know that you want…no, **need** to be successful.  If what your last memo said is true, you are on the verge of a breakthrough that would reshape the Wizarding world as we know it.  And if that means that you need me to help, I will do it…”

 

Severus said nothing, watching as Hermione leaned forward to add affect to her words, and as she did, he could see more of the inner curves of her breasts.  He could feel something seep into his blood, a feeling that he had almost forgotten when it came to Hermione Granger—desire.

 

“You would come back to work with me just to insure your ‘investment?’” he hissed, realizing that his desire was partly fueled by his anger at the woman across the table.

 

Oh, they had a history, that much Severus never could deny, and he had hoped that the passing of years would have lessened his feelings toward the Brain of the Golden Trio.  After the War, after his life had been turned upside down, after he was cleared of charges connected to the death of Albus and so many others, he had reluctantly agreed to sponsor Hermione Granger on her way towards obtaining a Masters level in Potions.  It was partly because he felt indebted to her for her work towards his acquittal; it was partly because the stipulations of his acquittal required him to teach a little while longer, but not in Hogwarts.

 

Three years…  Three years they worked together in his ramshackle home at Spinner’s End.  And during those three years he had had to endure Hermione Granger, endure her presence in his home, in his space and in his daily life.

 

For a long time Severus thought that he did die during the War and that he was in hell.  But by the end of the second year, Severus came to the realization that if it had not been for Hermione Granger and her sickening drive to learn and absorb everything he did and said, he surely would have offed himself.

 

Guilt could kill a man, or force a man to kill himself, and guilt was just about the only thing Severus could taste and feel.  If it had not been for her incessant questions, her annoying habit of prying into what little of personal life he had, and the way he felt when he looked at her, he surely would have done something…something rash.  She had grown into a woman before his eyes, intelligent, refined, but still far too eager to learn to suit his tastes for a possible lover.

 

And at night, after she Apparated to wherever it was she slept at night, he used her memory to construct something to which he could find relief.  Images of her leaning over a cauldron and a tendril of her hair falling across her cheek, the way her shirt would cling to her breasts when the basement lab got too hot for robes, the way she would lick her lips, tracing the top lip first and then the pouty bottom lip with that pink tongue…  It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to violate her on the stone floor of his dingy basement lab at Spinner’s End.

 

He was pathetic, and he knew it.  And when she finally finished her exams, and he rewarded the title of Master, he could finally breathe.

 

“Well, there would have to be some terms, of course…but yes, to insure my investments, I would do anything, Severus.”

 

Severus watched her begin her meal, cutting at the veal and letting the tender meat pass her lips, still as lovely as he remembered and still as luscious.

 

“You realize that in the time that you worked with me that little has changed.  I still use the lab at Spinner’s End, and that it is still as hot, cramped, and unpleasant as it ever was.”

 

Hermione swallowed her food and dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin.  Her fingers, manicured and clean, reached out for her wine glass.  Severus watched every move, trying anything not to think of how badly he had wanted her all those years ago, and how he still wanted her even now.

 

Just a child…his mind whispered.

 

No, not a child, a woman, a woman who was blatantly baiting him to give up something, but what?

 

“I don’t understand why you haven’t moved, Severus.  You have more than enough funding to build a bigger and better lab, but…who am I to criticize?  To each their own, eh?”

 

“Indeed,” he growled in return, watching as she lifted the wine glass to her lips and drank deeply.

 

He aped the motion, realizing that he had barely touched his own full glass.  He could feel her watching him, appraising him, assessing his movements, his face, and his clothes.

 

What did she really want?

 

Severus knew he could not discreetly delve into her mind; she was an excellent Occlumens, on par with his own skill.  Thus, he was left to hash it out, the reason why Hermione Granger had really called him to join her for dinner.

 

He knew little about her now—now that she was older, rich, and successful.  Severus had never doubted that Hermione Granger would eventually become one of the most powerful witches in Britain; she had always shown great potential.

 

She was unmarried, and if the rumors were true, often in the company of many different men.  The only thing that Severus did know that perhaps most people did not was that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were in some sort of relationship.  Draco still kept in contact with him, and from what Severus could glean from the subtle insinuations was Draco’s involvement in some competition with Hermione Granger, a competition of a personal and perhaps sexual nature.  Other than that, Severus knew little of what his apprentice had come to be outside of her financial pursuits.

 

Severus had downed two glasses of wine in quick succession before digging into his meal.  He could not deny that he enjoyed a good meal and that he had often denied himself the simple luxuries in lieu of his work.  It wasn’t as if he were poor, now was it?

 

So what did Hermione Granger really want from him?

 

The answer became clear when he realized that he had somehow Apparated home, drunk, with Hermione Granger on his lap, nuzzling his neck in his shabby parlor.

 

 

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

Perhaps the Fates were with her, or perhaps Severus Snape just wanted a real meal for once, she knew his eating habits were almost nil.  Severus Snape was a man who did not allow distractions, not even hunger, when it came to his work.  Hermione knew this firsthand when she studied with him after the War.

 

She watched him first pick at his food in the restaurant, and then devour it with little hesitation to manners.  He started to catch up with her, downing his wine with no time to savor the rich taste. 

 

Hermione studied her mentor without his notice, taking in the fact that his hair had grown past his shoulders and no longer looked as lanky as it did during her years at Hogwarts, it was now pulled back into a tidy green ribbon.  He had aged, but not so much to make him appear too old.  The War had taken its toll on Severus Snape, but in the years following his health, mental and physical, had improved.  There was no trace of silver in his hair, and the wrinkles around his mouth had softened since he had put on a bit of healthy weight.  But Severus Snape was not the most attractive man, not like Draco Malfoy.

 

To Hermione, Severus Snape was still too pale and too angular to make him attractive in a more traditional sense.  Even with a bit of healthy weight and expensive, trim clothing, Severus’ nose was still too large, his eyes too black, his skin too pallid.  But that had little to do with why she wanted him.

 

Respect was the first and foremost attitude she held toward the ex-Death Eater.  She had always respected him, no matter what Harry or Ron had ever said.  It was not until the years of her apprenticeship that she began to feel anything more than respect.  The attraction came from all those instances that he barked orders at her, reprimanded her if she made the slightest mistake, or ordered her silent when she asked too many questions.

 

Severus Snape was the man Hermione came to look at as the most dominant figure in her life.  Not a father figure, that was different…  Severus Snape was the man who taught her how to be dominant, how to lead, and how to demand respect.  And it was no secret to anyone who knew her now, in her adult life, that she demanded absolute respect, if not obedience, to every word that flowed past her lips.

 

This power, learned though it may have been, was the most important thing she learned from the epitome of Slytherin ideal—true Slytherin ideal.

 

And now she wanted to test herself against the master.

 

Hermione knew that she affected her former teacher in a manner that was not befitting the master/apprentice relationship, and she knew that in those three years she had almost driven Severus Snape mad with…lust maybe?  She was not exactly sure, but she knew that there had been more than one occasion that he had almost touched her, and there was more than one occasion that he had leaned over her shoulder while she worked and she felt his arousal against her hip.

 

Nothing was ever said, nothing ever insinuated, but Hermione knew that it was either his desperation or maybe she wasn’t such a hideous troll after all…  In any case, time had passed, and Severus Snape was the last man on her list to conquer.

 

The list…  Yes, her list was almost complete, and as she watched his eyes soften toward her after several glasses of wine, she was glad she had saved Severus for last.

 

She had been honest in asking if he needed help.  To be back in the lab again would be a dream compared to the endless meetings with her board, her buyers and with all the other sorts wanting to ride their way to wealth on the tails of her robes.  She was first and foremost a Potions Mistress, but it seemed that time had almost made her forget.

 

Besides being attracted to the acerbic, dark man across the table, Hermione had honestly enjoyed working with him.  She had always felt that wonderful sense of accomplishment after a full day of working in the labs with him, no matter if the potions had failed and cauldrons had melted due to botched experiments.  No one challenged her mind like Severus Snape, and for years she wondered if he would also be a challenge to her libido.

 

They continued to drink long after the meal was over, talking about theoretical and practical potions, even literature the drunker they got to music.  Hermione knew that Severus harbored a secret love for Muggle jazz and that he even had a 5-CD changer stereo hidden behind a false panel in his parlor, warded to work even though Severus used magic.  She also knew that three of the CDs in the changer were collections of Django Reinhardt, the other two Charlie Parker.

 

When conversation turned to the latest gossip, Hermione felt her face flush.

 

“You didn’t have any hand in Percy Weasley’s recent divorce, did you, Hermione?” he asked, swishing a half empty of glass of merlot in his hand, his long fingers curled beautifully around the curve of the glass.

 

Hermione threw back the rest of her wine, images of what those fingers would look like curled around her breast invading her mind.

 

“I wouldn’t know anything about it, Severus,” she whispered coolly, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.  “Who would have put such a silly idea in your head?” she squeaked in mock scandal.

 

“Oh, my godson.  I know that he had had a hand in it, so it was simple guess work that you also had a bit to play in that affair.  Of course, I should thank you on behalf of the teachers left at Hogwarts; thankfully I am free of the drudgery of teaching another Weasley…  Parting Penny Clearwater and Percy Weasley before they bred was wise.”

 

Hermione threw back her head and laughed.  She knew then that she was borderline drunk, but it seemed Severus was worse off than she was.  Hermione knew how to hold her alcohol, and she also knew that Severus could hold Firewhiskey better than wine.

 

“Well, since your ‘godson’ told you about that affair, I might as well own up to it,” Hermione laughed, unabashedly.

 

It was while she laughed that she noticed Severus’ hand tighten about the glass.  She feared the glass would shatter in that beautiful long fingered hand of his, and mentally sighed in relief when her mentor put the glass down and leaned back in his chair, his face stoic.  Surely he was not going to reprimand her?  No…  It was not that sort of gaze, she knew. 

 

“Draco tells me a great deal, and he takes the same attitude as you do…laughing about it.  Does the thrill of breaking hearts amuse you so much, Hermione?”

 

“Breaking hearts?  Really, Severus, I assure you, no hearts have been broken.  In the case of Mr. and Mrs. Percy Weasley, I simply took the initiative to make the couple come to terms that they were not best suited for each other.  And yes, Draco helped.”

 

“A humanitarian act?”

 

Hermione smirked, pouring herself another glass after filling Severus’ glass.  Even with his arms crossed before the placard of his black suit, he did not look as imposing as she remembered.  Instead, there was a spark of amusement in his onyx eyes, mirth even.

 

“Draco and ‘humanitarian’ should never be in the same thought, let alone the same sentence, Severus.  There was nothing humanitarian about it; you know that as well as I do.”

 

“Pleasure then…the thrill of pursuing someone?”

 

Hermione winked uncharacteristically and immediately regretted it.  Severus seemed to hold his breath, and she forced herself to laugh.

 

“Of course…”

 

 

 

 

*    *    *

 

 

 

 

They had drank the equivalent of two bottles of wine each, Hermione realized somewhere in her foggy mind.  Surely the amount of wine consumed was the only reason she found herself kissing a line down Severus’s throat, straddling him on his broken down couch in his poky parlor at Spinner’s End.

 

A fire burnt low in the grate at her back, but Hermione felt hotter with the sensation of Severus’ hands running along her spine under her top.  She moaned into his neck, the scent of his long ebony hair fueling her desire, smelling of sandalwood and soap.  Her hands plucked at the buttons of his coat, soon opening it so that she began plucking at the buttons of the white shirt underneath.  He nibbled at the flesh below her left ear, purring deep in his throat as her hands found his chest and her fingertips buried into the dark, straight hair of his chest.

 

He sucked in a breath through his lips as her teeth nipped at his collarbone, her fingers tracing around his nipples.  Severus thought it was going far too slow, his cock aching in the confines of his trousers.  Running a hand up the outside of her thigh and along her stocking, he grasped at the waistband of her knickers, tugging insistently so that he could sneak a digit closer to her heated core.

 

Hermione whimpered softly, leaning back so Severus could pay homage to her throat and the curve of her breast at the edge of her shirt where it draped.  With the movement, he managed to stroke one finger along the outside of her labia, causing her to gasp and pinch his left nipple in return.

 

With a grunt, Severus pulled away, his eyes hooded and gazing at the woman in his lap.  He wanted her, that much was certain, but they were only teasing each other the way they were now.

 

“Bedroom…now…” he breathed, lifting her off his lap, rising from the couch.

 

Hermione stood unsteadily, impressed with her mentor’s strength.  He took her hand and pulled her toward the hidden door in the bookshelves and soon was almost dragging her up a set of dark, narrow stairs.  At the landing, he glanced back at her in the dark and growled for her to begin undressing.  Still he pulled her along toward one of three doors, obviously his bedroom.  Once inside, he released her hand and drew his wand from his sleeve.

 

Hermione’s eyes adjusted slowly as candles lit upon the bureau near the door and from a small candelabrum next to a large bed.  There was only one window, tinted orange from streetlights beyond the house.  She watched him sit on the edge of the old bed seemingly fitted with an ancient green velvet duvet.  He pulled off his boots and socks and with a quick shrug was down to only his trousers.

 

Hermione had never seen her mentor without his full regalia, and to see how lean he was, how muscular and how much hair he had upon his chest, running down in a visible line into the waistband of his trousers, she knew then that he was indeed a man, flesh and blood.  There was no bit of fat on his frame, but as he loosened the button fly of his trousers and they slipped lower so that she could see his hipbones, Hermione felt a rush of heat travel at light speed to her core.

 

“Undress or I shall have to rip those expensive rags off you,” he growled, moving to place his wand at the bedside table.

 

Hermione did not hesitate, but narrowed her eyes.  She could very easily let the man dominate her, consume every sense, but that was not her original intention.

 

As Severus sat on the left edge of the bed again, Hermione moved to pull her top off over her head.  In doing so, she knew he was watching, she could feel the weight of his black eyes upon her.  Throwing her top upon the growing pile of clothes, she toed out of her heels.  Next she unzipped her skirt and let it fall around her ankles, standing only in her underwear and stay-up stockings.

 

“You keep your wand in the band of your stocking?  Is that wise, Hermione?” Severus growled, his eyes falling about her vinewood wand just at the inside of her thigh.

 

“Probably not…” she muttered, removing the wand and setting it on the bureau that was just within reach from where she stood just before the door.

 

He smirked and she shivered.  He rarely ever smiled, but then again he was slightly intoxicated, as was she.

 

“The rest?” he intoned.

 

Hermione, in return, smirked, reaching around to unhook her bra.  She knew that he must have thought she was shy—he was so wrong.  Letting the black contraption fall to the floor she made no move to cover herself.  She knew her breasts were large and heavy, but they were soft and creamy, the nipples tight and burning to be tasted.

 

He was breathing heavier now; she could see his shoulders tremble slightly.  Next came her knickers, also black.  And when she rose to full height, she stood only in black stockings.  Moving a hand to roll them off, Severus made a noise deep in throat, obviously to stop her.

 

With a practiced grace, Hermione moved to him, standing just before where he sat on the bed, his cock arching up, but still not visible where he still wore his trousers.

 

Without a word, Hermione leaned forward, catching Severus’ sharp chin and took his thin lips with hers into a kiss that seemed to resonate through them both.

 

When she pulled away, Severus had taken hold of her hips, his eyes shimmering liquid darkness.  His lips were swollen slightly and he could no longer hide his lack of proper breath.

 

“You consent to be here?”

 

“Yes…” Hermione whispered.

 

“You consent to let me touch you?”

 

“Of course…”

 

“Remember that, Hermione Granger.”

 

And with that, Hermione suddenly found that all her plans to try the master were pushed away as her body was forced to fall across his lap.  She screamed, unprepared for the pain of Severus’ knees digging into her gut and her ass ending up in the air.

 

“Fucking…” she began, but could not finish as she screamed again, one of those beautiful hands falling with unworldly force to spank her left ass cheek.

 

Again, and again…  She could not speak; the pain was so intense, the stinging so poignant.

 

“You consented…”

 

Smack!

 

“…Miss Granger.”

 

Smack!

 

“I’ve been waiting…”

 

Smack!

 

“…years to do this…”

 

The next slap did not come, but Hermione squealed as a digit penetrated her core, the squelch of her juices embarrassingly loud.  When a second digit was added, Hermione bucked and tried to move away.  This was not what she had planned, not at all, but she could not deny that it felt far too good than was necessary.

 

Bucking again, Severus pulled his hand out of her, his fingers and part of his palm coated with clear essence.  Hermione seemed to fly out of his reach, standing now before him, her face as red as a beet, her chest and breasts heaving.

 

“What the fuck are you playing at?” she growled, and before Severus could open his mouth to speak, or even to smirk, a hand slapped him across the face, making his ears ring.

 

Hermione expected her mentor to explode into a towering rage, but as he moved his head to look up at her, he barred his crooked teeth into the most disturbing smile.  And to add to the effect, he raised the hand he had penetrated her with and licked at his fingers.

 

“Sev…” she began, but her knees were shaking at the sight of his long, sharp tongue lapping at the juices he had caused to flow.

 

“Be rough, Hermione…I’ll return it in kind,” he growled, letting his hand drop to his lap.

 

Hermione, for once in a long while, could not think.  She flinched when he rose and worked his trousers off so that his prick jerked upward in a beckoning, bobbing motion.  Her eyes automatically moved to study him, uncircumcised, thick, and weeping cock.  He was larger than Draco, he was larger than any man she knew, and she knew many.  Apprehension flickered through her brain and was quickly banished.

 

“Or shall only _I_ be rough?” he whispered, leaning his head toward her so that his breath dusted across her cheek.

 

As if being released from a Petrificus Totalus, she moved.

 

She did not have her wand at the ready; else she would have proven that she was as excellent with Charms as she was Potions.  Hermione wanted to tie her Potions Master to the bedposts, flog him senseless, and then force him to worship every inch of her body.  Alas, she could only straddle his face, pulling his hair so that overly large nose was buried in her cunt.

 

Apparently she had not addled him too much for he grasped her thighs and began licking and relishing the taste.  Hermione leaned forward slightly, not wishing to suffocate her mentor, but to her surprise, Severus pulled her hips down tighter, his teeth flashing against her clit and his tongue snaking into her core.  Hermione groaned.

 

Sloppy was the only word she could think of to describe the state of her nether regions.  But Severus took her all, his face and mouth saturated with her.  He hummed into her, relishing her taste, and the fact that she had not left out of fear or anger; then again, he had heard rumors about her…

 

Hermione was close, so close as he sucked upon her clit, his hands holding her hips so tightly she was sure to bruise.  And when she came, she groaned deep in her throat, her back straightening so that Severus could open his eyes and look up her body.

 

Just as the last wave washed through Hermione, Severus took the advantage and lifted her hips off his face.  He moved his hands to grasp her waist, pulling her down along his own body so that he pushed her down upon his straining cock.

 

The slicing pain the accompanied his penetration made Hermione claw instinctually at his face and chest.  She tried to pull away, to dislodge him somehow, but he snarled, catching her wrists and pulling her hands down her side so that she was forced to lie flush atop him, her face buried into his shoulder.  But Hermione was not about to give up, and opened her mouth to bite down into the muscle, skin and tendon of Severus’ left shoulder.

 

With a vicious growl, Severus forced them both to roll so that he was atop her, his feet gaining purchase in the bed, pushing so that they now lay properly in the bed.  Hermione still had not relinquished her hold as Severus moved to kneel between her thighs, thrusting forward with such force that Hermione’s teeth were dislodged and she felt blood wipe along her cheek as he began to move.

 

Hermione whimpered at the first thrust, inadequately prepared for Severus’ penetration.  He was so thick that the pain of muscles forcing to stretch was downright excruciating to Hermione.  But after the fifth thrust, her arms wrenched upward so that one of Severus’ large hand would bind her wrists over her head, she groaned out of pleasure instead of pain.

 

Her resistance had urged him to be rough.  He was bleeding, and he was pissed, and he wanted to possess the witch below him totally.

 

He was quickly losing himself in fucking Hermione and as soon as his hold on her wrists loosened, she moved.  He had almost hoped for this, and as she clawed into his back and chest, he growled in satisfaction.

 

With the next thrust, however, Hermione managed to lift her knee to ram it into his gut.  Pain exploded through him, and she moved, taking her own advantage of his pause to roll away.  Severus gasped, swallowing the pain and caught the witch by her hair before she managed to make it off the bed.

 

She screamed like a wild animal as he wrenched her back, forcing her to fall on her face into the mattress.  Severus knew that she was underestimating him.  Surely, she was after her wand, surely she was thinking of subduing him somehow and using his body for her own pleasure and not his…

 

He moved so that he held her head down into the mattress, a whimper passing her lips with every breath.  His cock twitched as he straddled her legs, his balls slapping against the curve of her ass to her thigh.  And with one hand he spread the cheeks of her ass and let the head of his cock sink down toward her core. 

 

“Gods…” he hissed, her pussy grasping him like a vice, the angle so severe that her body was trying to reject his cock.

 

Hermione tried to lift her upper body up the best she could, but Severus was too strong.  She wanted control.  She wanted to see his face contort from the pleasure he was deriving from her body. 

 

He slowly released his hold upon her hair, but was not free of him as both of his hands went to shoulders, pulling her body back, her back arching.  Hermione groaned, making her body bend at the waist so that she found herself on her hands and knees, Severus still sinking into her body slowly.

 

She could not think of what to do, how to turn it around, and she was sure that as soon as Severus began thrusting she would give in to him.  He felt exquisite; the struggle, the pain and the fight for dominance making her incredibly wet.  If she were to move, Severus would surely wrap his large hands about her neck.  She had underestimated him…

 

Severus took his time before he thrust fully, his dark eyes studying the way her muscles tensed and how her breath began to slow.  She was thinking, and that would not do.

 

With a thought of his own, he caught his wand in one hand, and noticed that Hermione had seen the wand fly from the bedside table.  She trembled.

 

Severus had mastered wandless, silent incantations long ago, and felt a small swell of pride that it seemed Hermione had not mastered this ability yet.  With a thought and simple movement of his wand, he conjured rope, hemp rope that coiled and moved like a snake upon the expanse of Hermione’s back.

 

Meanwhile, Hermione turned her head slightly to watch out of the corner of eye, nervously, by all sights the same spell she had used many times to tie her partners and subdue them.

 

“As much as your struggling arouses me, Hermione…I _do_ want to get off sometime tonight…” he growled sensually, moving his wand one last time so that the rope began to coil about her upper arms, tightening so that she fell on her face into the duvet with an ‘oof.’  When the rope finally tied itself off, Severus pulled out of his clutching lover and climbed off the bed to gaze down at the bound Hermione Granger.

 

His arousal was painful, moving his wand one more time, causing Hermione to turn her face toward him.

 

“This isn’t…” she began, but Severus laid a finger against his lips to silence her, his eyes sparking in the candlelight, his body glowing with lust and a thin sheen of sweat.

 

“Foiled your plan, Hermione…” he muttered, placing his wand on the bedside table again.  “And now…I’ll ask again.”

 

Hermione frowned, a lock of hair falling into her eyes.  Her arms were bound behind her back in an ornate rope harness; it would be hard for her rise from her position without help.  She could summon her wand, but would not have the hand to use it.  And with Severus’ last spell; she knew that he wanted something more than the pleasure of sinking his thick cock into her pussy.

 

“Do you consent?”

 

His voice was loaded with power, but a power that could only make her speak the deepest truth in her soul—she wanted this.

 

“Yessss…” she drawled.

 

And she felt her juices run from between her thighs and into the bed below.  She wanted Severus Snape, and if she could only have him this one time, at his mercy, she would take it all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

 

Even with her arms bound, she rode him, her breasts undulating before his face as he sat on the edge of the bed, his arms upon her hips to steady her.  Sweat poured down her body, a fat drop trailing between her breasts.  He could not speak, could not think, as she plunged down upon his flesh.

 

Even with her face buried into the bed, her arms bound, she whimpers egged him on, the slick evidence of her multiple orgasms not only wetting her thighs, but his as well.  The only gentleness he revealed was as he entered her puckered orifice, sinking carefully into her, holding back thrusting recklessly into her body.  It was clear that it was a delicate balance of pain and pleasure, but she took his entire length.

 

Severus caressed her nubbin of nerves as he began to slowly thrust into her, her cries transforming from discomfort to cries of unadulterated lust.  She was so tight, and expectedly so.  He gritted his teeth as he thrust slowly and evenly into her ass, knowing that his fingers were going to leave horrible black marks upon her hips.

 

She arched her back off the bed as he quickened his pace, moving closer and closer to climax.  A sense of relief passed through him as she came before he did, howling his name like a she-wolf.  He thrust roughly into her, aiming to follow quickly behind.  When he felt his sac tighten and his cock swell, he felt his head lighten as he emptied himself into her, falling forward so that he crushed her beneath him.

 

That was how they lay for a long time, she not complaining at his weight and he pulling his flaccid cock out of her to catch his breath.

 

The coupling had not lasted long, but the bed was soaked with her juices and his sweat.

 

With a softly intoned spell, the ropes disappeared, and he rolled away.  She did not move except to turn her face look over at him.  Hermione said nothing, and for that Severus was glad.  He would have liked to have shoved his cock down her throat to teach her the value of silence, and he lamented shortly that she had seemed to learn that particular lesson.

 

She smiled at him, disconcerting him slightly, but she did not move.

 

Severus rose slowly, wanting nothing more for a shower, and when he made it to his feet, he knew he would need a hot shower for the muscles in his abdomen and lower back were screaming for some sort of soothing.  He was not a young man anymore.

 

As he moved to the door, pulling it open jerkily, Hermione finally spoke.

 

“Shower?”

 

Severus nodded.

 

“Can I join you after a bit?”

 

He paused before taking another step, his eyes moving over the clothes on the floor and the naked, curvy woman on his bed.  How long had it been since a woman had laid on his bed?

 

He nodded assent, and quickly added.  “I wouldn’t make a habit of this, Granger…”

 

He left for the bathroom across the landing, leaving Hermione to smirk to herself and assess how much damage had been done to the flesh of her hips.

 

 

 

 

*    *    *

 

 

 

Hours later, after a shared shower, a quick snack and a good nap, Severus awoke to find that Hermione was devouring his cock, making him whimper like a little boy in his sleep.  Her fingers were wrapped around his balls and caressed his perineum, lower, and making him sigh.

 

When he lifted the covers to gaze down at her in the pale light of early morning, the candles extinguished, he gave her the best impression of his old Potions Master self as he could.  But the sight of her lips around his cock and the crescent shadow of her lashes upon her cheek was too much for Severus to keep up the pretense.  He unconsciously let his hand move down to bury his fingers in Hermione’s hair near the nape of her neck.  She glanced up at him shortly and increased the suction on his cock.

 

He opened his mouth to say her name, but thought better of it.  Severus was restless; his cock again far too hard for comfort, and quickly found that he could only move his right arm.

 

With an attempt to move his body again resulted in only the lifting of his head, Hermione pulled away, pushing the blankets back.

 

“What have you…” he began as his right arm was wrenched upward and he was rendered powerless.

 

“I can do a bit of wandless magic too, Severus.  Of course, I’m not as good as the master, but I am a quick learner.”

 

Severus opened his mouth to reply, but found he could not speak.

 

“Now I believe it is my turn, sir…”

 

With that Severus was on his way to learning that Hermione Granger was not one to take submission without a little bit of dominance.


	3. Chapter 3

Percy Weasley’s blue eyes were sharp and angry as they looked down at her. Hermione lifted her chin defiantly, her hand on her wand handle inside her cloak. The back of her head stung from where it had impacted the alley wall, and immediately she was on the alert via the pain. Percy Weasley had accosted her in the street outside the entrance to Diagon Alley, and though he had been all smiles among the throng of people on the street, he was scowling now.

 

The pretense fell as soon as they entered the alley.

 

“Do you intend to ruin me, Hermione?” he growled his palms pressed into the wall at her shoulders to pin her.

 

He was in his Ministry robes, the lens of his glasses catching the afternoon light that filtered into the alley. His face was flushed, his mien stiff with rage.

 

Hermione, on the other hand, kept her face passive, her stance loose in case he somehow meant to hurt her… It would be foolish to be seen with her, let alone touch her, but Percy’s anger was the sort that thought little of propriety. Even in the seclusion of the alley, if she screamed, all of Diagon Alley would be upon them. While Percy was dressed for his Ministry position, Hermione was in her finest. She was a rich woman, an independent woman, a powerful woman—Percy was a peon in comparison.

 

Lifting her amber eyes to Percy, she smiled slightly.

 

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Percy,” she purred, and she did not.

 

Months ago, she had bed the man as he had been set before her as a game by her business rival, Draco Malfoy. Percy was one of many who had been unwitting participants to Hermione and Draco’s game. While Percy was a Ministry official with some power, his true allure lay under the drab robes he wore and under the horn rimmed glasses that obscured his blue velvet eyes. Hermione still found him attractive after so many months, but knew that Percy’s conflicted sense of right and wrong would never let him be a long-term lover.

 

“The letters,” he ground out.

 

Hermione, truly confused, blinked. She had had no contact with Percy since their last meeting—no correspondences, no Floo calls, and no social meetings. Percy’s realm of existence was far removed from her own.

 

Inhaling slowly, her mind moved.

 

“Audrey found the letters…”

 

Again, Hermione blinked. Audrey? As far as she knew, Percy had been married to Penelope Clearwater…

 

“She is contemplating pushing back our wedding, and I cannot have that,” Percy growled, his face moving nearer to Hermione’s. My, my, Hermione thought, Percy Weasley moved quickly, and in her judgement, this fact made Percy Weasley slightly more interesting.

 

In the past few months, Hermione and Draco’s ‘game’ had wound down. After she had taken what she wanted from Draco, a part of her wearied of games. She was far too busy to continue to play ‘who is the better libertine.’ There was also the issue of the one man who consumed most of her thoughts—her mentor, Severus Snape.

 

Hermione had been travelling for weeks, and she had only just returned to London when Percy Weasley accosted her. The travelling had parted her from Severus, from Draco, and from the ‘game.’ It seemed, however, that Draco was still playing—and playing dirty.

 

It was just as she began to suspect that Draco might be changing the rules of the game when Percy’s lips brushed her cheek. Hermione narrowed her eyes and with a hand, pushed against Percy’s chest, annoyed more at her lack of focus than Percy’s advances.

 

“Leave me…” she whispered as Percy leaned away from her, his eyes still angry, but smoldering with something deeper and hotter. Hermione lifted her chin again, haughtily. “I am done with you.”

 

Perhaps, she thought, she should have chosen her words differently. The reaction was swift, and violent. The slap across her face made her ears buzz.

 

Her wand came out like a striking snake, and suddenly, she was the one pinning Percy Weasley to the opposite wall, wand tip pressed under his chin and into his throat. In his anger, he did not seem to perceive her as a threat. Hermione smirked. So many people underestimated her in various ways.

 

“I am done with you,” she said evenly, though the power in her words forced away Percy’s anger and fear crept through his expression. “I could take everything you have, Percy Weasley… Your position at the Ministry, your flat, your money, your status, it is mine, I own it…”

 

And she did.   Hermione Granger was the most powerful businesswoman in Britain, she had connections, and she had the means to make Percy Weasley disappear if she wanted. Legally? Absolutely not, but her moral compass had been smashed long ago.

 

“The letters will stop, though I had nothing to do with somehow disrupting your petty little life… You came to me, willingly, if I remember correctly. When it was over, when I told you it was over, I did not renege on the deal,” she snarled a snarl worthy of Severus Snape.

 

The deal was: no contact. Percy cornering her in a dingy alley was a deal breaker.

 

“Touch me again, and I _will_ write some letters of my own—to your superior.”

 

Hermione’s eyes bored into Percy’s pale face, and though she would like nothing more than to return to the slap, she did not. Her cheek stung, her pride stung.

 

She would never air out secrets in such an underhanded way. Hermione could imagine unsigned letters arriving to Percy or to whom ever Audrey was, telling about all the things Hermione and Percy had done. She could also imagine there was some implied threat of blackmail, only something like that would have Percy Weasley dragging her into an alley to confront her. Of course, it was only natural for Percy to suspect Hermione was the one penning the letters, but Hermione knew better.

 

What was Draco playing at?

 

Hermione left Percy Weasley shaking in the alley, stowing her wand and hoping that the sting on her cheek would not leave a bruise.

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

Bone weary, Hermione flopped down on her bed with a handful of letters. Several weeks’ worth of mail made her cringe at the idea of sorting. Flyers were the first to go into the paper rubbish bin near the bed as she kicked off her heels and lay sideways on the queen-sized mattress. Late day sunlight streamed in through her upscale flat’s windows, warming her bare legs under her knee length skirt and filtered through her white ruffled shirt that had been hidden under her tasteful blazer. Her cheek still stung, but upon entering the flat, she glanced in the mirror near the door to find that there was no bruise.

 

The messages on her Muggle answering machine were boring; the flat was just as she left it. Her luggage was waiting to be unpacked in the hall, and the flowers in the vases in the library and parlour were still fresh with the Charms she had cast before leaving. As she lay on the bed, her cropped hair falling from the bun atop her head, she sighed as she saw that a late birthday card came from Luna somewhere in Norway. There were invitations that were for children’s birthdays of old classmates, too personal to send to her office. There was a bill from a bookshop that had been sent to her flat rather than the office. There was a letter from Harry, addressed from America. The invitations she tossed, the bill and Harry’s letter, she set aside.

 

The newest correspondences were from that very day, two thin letters. Both were in familiar hands, and the first she opened was from Draco Malfoy.

 

Draco rarely used the Floo, too afraid ash might get in his hair, and a letter was not surprising. Sitting up and folding her legs, Hermione opened the ridiculous wax seal to find only a card inside the envelope.

 

‘Dinner and a show, tonight at 8, reply ASAP.’

 

Hermione snorted. They often went to dinner and a show, only a precursor to setting the terms of the next ‘game.’ Draco had become enamored with Muggle theatre and cinema, and it often had to do with the theme of the games…

 

“Not interested…” she sighed to herself, dropping the missive, and picking up the next.

 

The scrawl was familiar, and immediately Hermione felt her face warm.

 

‘I suppose you have a secretary to sort out your social life now, but if it would please you, join me for dinner and a show tonight at 8 pm. Casual dress only. Confirm by meeting me at Café D’Aquila. SS.’

 

Hermione grinned. Café D’Aquila was a little Italian place that she remembered well. It was in no way a type of place Draco would ever meet her. The café was small, almost insignificant in where it was in Sheffield—an anomaly. As for a show, Hermione could only assume it was to be in Sheffield as well, but what and where, she supposed, would be a surprise.

 

What was more surprising was the fact Severus had sought her company for another night.

 

Draco could wait forever for all she cared.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

Severus was as she had come to associate him—in all black. He was like a blot of darkness sitting in a booth at the café, his face shuttered, slouching over the table, a hand curled around a stem of a glass of red wine.

 

Hermione sat across from him, suppressing a smile.

 

It took several moments for Severus to raise his dark eyes to her in the light of the low hanging light over the table. She could feel his gaze, taking in her plain dark blue dress, her shorter hair loose about the shoulders of the boat neck, and the light makeup she put on—mascara and lip-gloss. Her cheek was still sore, but she opted against wearing a glamour over the swollen mark along her left cheek bone. In the dim café, it would have been hard to notice.

 

“Miss-Hermione…” he said by way of greeting.

 

“Severus,” she answered with an inclination of her head.

 

His eyes moved along her exposed collarbones and her ear that held back strands of wavy caramel hair. To Hermione, Severus was dressed up slightly, his black button down shirt unbuttoned at the top; the shirt tucked into nicely cut black trousers. His hair was neatly combed, a curtain of inky blackness. He had shaved, and from where she sat, she could smell a hint of musky cologne.

 

“Has you trip been…fruitful?”

 

Hermione lifted her chin slightly. “It has. And your work?”

 

“I am nearly finished with expected success.”

 

The air fell dead around them as the waiter came to take their order. When the formality of ordering was over, their eyes met again.

 

“It has been nearly a month,” she started. “I was not sure if when I left you…” she trailed, unable to think of how to continue.

 

“You have your business, I have mine.”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

Severus continued. “I did not want to interfere with your work with something that might distract you, Hermione.”

 

“Me either… I am glad you wrote to me, invited me out.”

 

His eyes glimmered for a moment and Hermione moved her eyes to the white tablecloth.

 

“You have not been…” he trailed softly.

 

With anyone else, she supposed he meant to say.

 

“No. I had no desire.”

 

Hermione was sure Severus knew of her ‘romantic’ life. She also knew that Draco had kept in contact with Severus through the years. Hermione was half afraid to know if Severus was aware of the ‘game.’

 

Her last romantic moment had been with the man who was staring holes into her forehead across the table. Of course, there had been no time with her work to pursue another lover, but she had not wanted another lover.

 

They spoke little even after their meal was brought to the table, even less as they went to a ballet of a traveling company in the city. However, Hermione held his hand as they watched the ballet, and Severus did not seem to mind. Though they did not speak, their bodies spoke to each other. Simply holding Severus’ hand thrilled Hermione. She had wanted to touch him for much longer than the months they were apart.

 

Severus had been her Master while she worked on her levels, and in that time, after Hogwarts, she had nurtured respect and eventual attraction to the man. She wanted to leave the ballet and fall into his bed again, feel his hands upon her body, and let him dominate every sense.

 

No man, and she had had many, ever made her feel so intensely aroused as Severus did. Hermione could not explain it rationally except to think it was some deep animalistic lust, but it was more than that. Severus challenged her.

 

In the month that she had been away from Britain, and in the time she could think of him, she feared that he would have nothing to do with her after their initial meeting and exploration. They had reveled in each other for hours, memorizing every inch of skin and bone. And when Hermione had to leave, it was as if she were leaving behind something too important to go without.

 

Severus’ thumb ran over the backside of her palm, over and over. He did not look at her as the dancers on the stage seemed to fly through the air and the orchestra’s strings seem to propel the bodies. Hermione did not look at him though her hand was resting on his right thigh. She could feel the heat of him through his trousers, and in turn, it made her own core throb.

 

The ballet was too long.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wait was worth it, in Hermione’s mind. By the time they returned to Spinner’s End, Severus’ trousers were bulging, and Hermione’s body burned. Outside of the ballet, he kissed her in the darkness beyond the streetlights. It was a mixture of passion, tenderness, and need.

 

Inside the wards of Severus’ house, the need intensified.

 

Possessed with the strength of that need, he carried her up the narrow stairs and laid her down on his bed. Candles lit, making his pale face glow as he grasped her slim ankles and pulled off her low heels. She watched him from her place on the bed, her chest rising and falling as if she were suffocating.

 

Sitting on the edge of the wide bed, Severus pulled his own boots off, so slowly that it seemed a harsh counterpoint to the rush of want that filled Hermione. She sat up sharply, her hands brushing over the backs of his wide shoulders. Instantly, arms enveloped her, pushing her down to the bed again. Frantic kisses had her lips humming with contact.

 

Hermione wished she could read Severus’ mind.

 

Long digits moved over her cropped hair to her throat and then to the collar of her dress. Hands rent the dark blue fabric with a grunt and Hermione sighed as her bare breasts caught the charged and cool air of the room. Nipples hardened, heart pounded, and as his mouth glided along the underside of her breast, Hermione realized her hands had been idle, clutching the duvet under her body.

 

Severus’ hair was soft, only slightly oily, a testament to his desire to be well scrubbed at their meeting, she supposed. As she kissed his crown, sliding her lips along a smooth strand of ebony hair, Hermione could smell the cologne she noticed. However, there was another scent, one that made her eyes flutter open slightly. Severus smelled like musk, with a hint of patchouli, but there was another scent, one that did not come from Severus.

 

As a Potions Mistress, Hermione’s sense of smell was keen, as it had to be. There was an ambient scent of sweet smoke, sandalwood, something that was not Severus. Just as she was beginning to ponder and identify the source of the scent, Severus bit down into her breast with his uneven teeth. It was a bite meant to bring her back to task, and not exactly painful.

 

Hermione sighed as Severus sat up, pulling her along to tear her dress open further, revealing that underneath she wore only a modest pair of matching satin knickers. His eyes drank her in, flickering in the candlelight. They had yet to speak to one another.

 

It did not matter to her, but the fact that Severus was still dressed did. Deft fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, and one by one, Hermione opened the garment. She liked the way he had dressed—casual, human. Severus would never be ‘handsome,’ but he cut an impressive figure with his lean body, long torso, wide shoulders, and wiry muscles. The years after the War had given him a healthy weight, dulling the pointed angles of his body. Even in his forties, Severus was impressive in strength, agility, and finesse.

 

Hermione could not take her eyes off the thin line of black hair on his chest, the slightly darker nipples on his pectoral muscles, or the line of his throat and collarbone. Shifting to her knees, her palms skimmed over his chest, reaching only once to pull the shirttails from his trousers. The scent of him was stronger with his exposed flesh, and it intoxicated her pleasantly.

 

Leaning forward with Severus’ hands on her shoulders to steady her, Hermione placed open-mouthed kisses upon his chest, nipping his pebbled nipples, nails scratching along the line of hair that trailed down his tight abdomen. As their mouths met again, bare breasts pressed into his chest as hands pulled away their clothing—the ruined dress, the black shirt going to the floor.

 

Moving so they both were kneeling on the bed, kissing, and touching was just enough.

 

Hermione wanted him and by the obvious bulge pressing into her belly, he wanted, needed her just as much. Behind her eyes, all she saw was him. It startled her that his face, his presence was all she felt she would ever want…

 

Then, a third hand ran along her side where Severus’ two hands held to her shoulder blades, compressing her body against his. The third hand was cooler, nails longer, fingertips softer and not calloused. When a softer finger snaked under the side of her knickers, a fourth hand touched her on her other side, working the satin scrap down her hips.

 

Hermione gasped into Severus’ mouth and begrudgingly, she pushed away, eyes flying open. The force of the push had her falling back onto the bed, knees open, and knickers halfway down her thighs. Resting back on her elbows, she was wide eyed.

 

Draco Malfoy knelt behind Severus, nude, his face appearing around Severus’ left shoulder to smirk down at her.

 

Before Hermione could form a word, a shout, Draco’s pale arms wrapped about Severus, and slowly Severus turned his head to kiss the younger man chastely over his shoulder. The sight was incredibly erotic—light kissing darkness, but wrong, and intrusive to Hermione’s ideal for the evening.

 

Pulling apart slowly, Draco rested his chin on Severus’ shoulder, and the two men stared down at her, eyes smoldering.

 

The scent she had sensed was Draco…and she ground her teeth together in a snarl.

 

“What is this?” Hermione ground out.

 

Severus said nothing, but lifted his chin slightly while Draco smirked.

 

“An ambush?” Draco suggested.

 

Hermione shook, from both anger and arousal.

 

“Perhaps a ‘test’ is a better word?” Draco suggested again, his hands running down Severus’ chest to his belt. The belt was soon pulled away, and Draco’s fingers began working his fly.

 

“Test?” Hermione managed to asked, her eyes moving to Severus whose breathing seemed to increase in pace at Draco’s touch.

 

No matter how well constructed Severus’ face was, Hermione could see that he was not exactly comfortable at Draco’s touch. Hermione knew Draco sometimes indulged with the same sex, but not Severus…not like Draco.

 

“It seems you chose the better of us,” Draco whispered, ruefully.

 

She frowned, and surged forward, slapping Draco’s hands from Severus’ trousers. The movement made the younger man laugh and roll on the bed, nearer to her.

 

He had been watching, she realized, waiting. Draco had obviously grown impatient. Then Hermione realized that Severus must have known Draco was watching…

 

Hermione was off the bed and on her feet in a flash, snatching up her torn dress and searching for her wand in the concealed side pocket. However, before she could draw it, Severus had grasped her wrist and drew her back to the bed so that she was sitting in his lap. His trousers were undone, the head of his cock just visible against his belly.

 

Draco was chuckling from the bed, lying on his side to stare at Hermione, a hand stroking his erect cock until the candlelight made the drop of pre-come glint. Draco was exquisite, beautiful, but Hermione had little taste for it.

 

“Let’s play, Hermione,” Draco whispered.

 

She glared at him, but the longer she gazed at his smoky eyes, the more she saw.

 

Draco had hoped she would come to him instead of Severus. It was a vain hope, but still a hope. He was going to do everything in his power to have her, to end the game. However, Hermione knew there would only ever be games with her rival.

 

Draco could not love her, no matter how much he deluded himself. Hermione would always be competition. His definition of ‘love’ was more twisted and confused than her own.

 

Severus, on the other hand, was…

 

Hermione could almost see the conversation the two men had had, although she was not sure how much Draco knew about her feelings for Severus. The man who held her was staring at the side of her face, waiting.

 

It was time to end it.

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

One dark, one light, they encircled her, moving so that all she could see were shades of grey. It was a battle, she knew, a battle to sway her emotions and her body to one end of the spectrum or the other.

 

Draco kissed her like a man obsessed, and though his skin was softer, his touch was rougher. While Severus kissed her mouth, Draco ate at her core, teeth flashing against her most tender of flesh. While Severus’ kiss was apologetic, repentant, Draco’s nips at the inside of her thighs and the prod of his fingers into her body were possessive.

 

Hermione was overwhelmed, and though the descriptor did not seem to truly encompass her arousal, she was just that. She wanted them both, but Severus more than anything else. She did not want Severus to see her so undone by the man who licked at her pucker and began teasing the orifice open. Hermione did not want Severus to see how Draco made her twitch and moan. If she could, a part of Hermione would have banished Draco from her world.

 

“Get on your knees,” Draco hissed.

 

She was gasping for air, but complied with Severus’ help. Severus’ impassive face hurt her. Why was he allowing this? Why was she?

 

As if sensing her anguish, Severus moved to sit against the head of the bed, grasping her cheeks and kissing her. The kiss told her many things, but what it meant was lost as she felt Draco moving behind her.

 

“Severus…” she whispered as he pulled back.

 

His cock was straining up, so engorged that when she bowed her head slightly, the caress of her fringe of hair against the flesh made him jerk. He shifted away from her, and Hermione let her upper body fall to the bed as Draco rubbed the head of his cock against her pucker. Closing her eyes, she did not want to see Severus’ face.

 

Humiliation did not come naturally to her. What did come naturally was the instinct that made her hips jerk in anticipation.

 

Hermione felt like a truly base woman. She had been wrong, so very wrong to hope.

 

Draco hummed as he pushed inside slowly, and Hermione winced. Though prepared for the intrusion into her body, she wished with all her being that it was not Draco Malfoy who was entering her most tender of parts.

 

Draco had always attracted her, though she rarely admitted it. He was handsome and he was a thorough lover, but Hermione would rather dominate the man than play the submissive.

 

“Granger…” he sighed, his fingers playing over the expanse of her bare back and spine.

 

The slow penetration made her want to call his name, but she could feel Severus nearby, feel his eyes upon her and Draco. She wondered what those eyes saw and how the man felt.

 

Disgust? Fascination?

 

Fingers wound about her hip to her clit and the first thrust had Hermione crying out in primal bliss. She could not fight her body’s urge any longer and slowly, her reptilian, base part of her mind told her to ‘fuck your newfound sense of morality.’

 

Her eyes opened, vision hazy with endorphins, and she saw Severus sitting on the far edge of the bed. His eyes were riveted on where she and Draco joined.

 

Draco strummed her clit as he thrust fully into her body, and when a long digit snaked lower to gather essence, Hermione’s spine straightened, her head throwing back. Draco cursed in a growl and Hermione watched as Severus moved to lick at Draco’s finger, tongue curling around the sticky digit.

 

A slap to her bottom made her chin drop again, bringing a moan.

 

“So fucking goo—” Draco began to say, but choked a gasp, his hands slapping against her hips to grasp tighter.

 

Severus made a noise deep in his chest and Hermione met his eyes. He was barring his teeth, his hand sliding down his chest to grasp his cock. The sight sent her over, and she was gone on a wave of absolutely delight. Her eyes closed and behind her eyelids were red and green sparks. Hermione was not sure if she screamed, cursed, or called Severus’ name, but he was suddenly there, against her, under her.

 

“This is mine,” she thought she heard Severus say, but there was no room in her brain to ponder the words for Severus grasped her waist and all motion stopped.

 

Draco chuckled darkly behind her, still inside her.

 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest as she felt another hard length sliding against her core, wiry hair brushing against her clit. Her protest was swallowed in Severus’ mouth as his finger trapped her nipples and pinched. The pain was negligible, but the sensation sent a shock down her body.

 

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she shifted and Draco followed. Then, with what felt like a pop, Severus slid inside. Hermione whimpered into Severus’ mouth and tears prickled the corners of her eyes.

 

Needing air, she pulled her mouth away as Severus’ hands slid down her sides to grasp her waist just above Draco’s hands. Severus moved first while Hermione straddled him. The slow slide filled her so completely that she had to bite into Severus’ shoulder to keep from screaming.

 

She knew she was muttering nonsense when the two men began to move in tandem, alternately filling and pulling out of her body. Hermione knew she was muttering apologies to Severus for various reasons and threats to Draco, but it was nonsense, more like disjointed words that sounded more like praise.

 

The rhythm increased and Draco fell against her back, licking the sweat on her shoulder blades. Severus bit the shell of her ear and then, she was gone again, back arching, magic showering off her in tiny, yet literal sparks.

 

Draco gave a hoarse whimper and was suddenly gone from against her back. The absence of his warmth made Hermione shiver. Though Severus had stopped moving, he was far from finished wringing out his own brand of pleasure from her.

 

Hermione was glad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her heels dug into the shifting muscle of his buttocks as Severus filled her. Hermione could feel the dampness of Draco’s come under her on the bed where it had oozed out, but she did not care. Hermione did not care that Draco lay next to her on his belly, his fingers playing over her moving breasts as Severus thrust into her roughly, over and over again.

 

As if speaking to her without Severus’ knowledge, Draco whispered into her ear.

 

“I suppose I have lost.”

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered as she reached up to push Severus’ curtain of hair from his sweaty face.

 

“It is an unfair world where someone like me is allowed to bed whomever he pleases—a true libertine…but you…your reputation will be ruined if we keep playing these games.”

 

Only half of what Draco said registered.

 

Hermione wondered when he had begun to care so much.

 

He seemed to slither across the bed to press his face into her throat, tasting her sweat.

 

“You have proven that you love this man…and not me.”

 

She had half a mind to ask if Draco expected that she should love him, but she did not, instead, she bent up to kiss Severus and allow him to gather her into his arms. Draco fell away, watching.

 

“Severus…” she sighed as they lay again on the bed.

 

The sound his voice seemed to be the trigger, and he gripped her painfully tighter and growled into her hair as his hips jerked erratically. His back arched and a cry passed his thin lips, resembling her name.

 

Draco smirked as the man and woman collapsed into each other, and Hermione watched through a fringe of Severus’ hair as Draco rose from the bed and began to dress. He had on a dapper grey suit, and drawing his wand, cast a cleansing Charm over his pale skin and semi-erect cock.

 

Severus pulled his flagging cock from Hermione and rolled on the bed to take Draco’s place, bringing Hermione with him. Severus’ eyes were closed, but he held Hermione as if to never let her go.

 

“I love you.”

 

It was Draco who had spoken, and not Severus. Pressed into Severus’ side, Hermione met her rival’s eyes in the dim candlelight. Draco was shrugging on a cloak.

 

“But he loves you more. It is time to be honest with yourself, Granger. He will give you everything you want…”

 

Hermione almost asked how Draco Malfoy had any idea about what she wanted, but did not open her mouth.

 

“I love you, but I will never let you break my heart…and if you break his…”

 

Draco’s eyes fell upon his old mentor who was watching him through long black eyelashes.

 

“I will destroy you.”

 

Draco Malfoy left the room that was full of candlelight and the scent of sex, and Hermione looked after him from Severus’ arms. The only sound was the whipping flicker of flame, and soon Hermione’s soft sobs.

 

She was not sure why she was crying; she was neither sad nor happy. Hermione was sated.

 

Severus moved until he leaned over her, staring down into her hazed amber eyes. Hermione blinked slowly wonder filling her mind. Severus was trying to smile.

 

“You can go after him.”

 

She blinked again. “What?”

 

“If that is what you want.”

 

Shock coursed through her. Why would she want to go after Draco Malfoy? She shook her head, her cropped hair sweaty, her entire body wrought out.

 

“I am where I want to be, as long as I am permitted to be here…”

 

Severus’ smile faltered. “You think I would send you away?”

 

“You have every right to… Draco has revealed my true na—“

 

“No.”

 

His single word was insistent, and Hermione felt something inside her body clench as if waiting for the true blow.

 

Instead, Severus kissed her gently, her swollen lips beginning to dry. When he pulled back, his fingers brushed the corner of her mouth and then moved down her body to the sticky fold between her thighs. A gentle caress had Hermione’s body stiff.

 

“I invited Draco here…I wanted to see for myself that you chose me.”

 

His words were a balm.

 

“I will possess your sweet troubled soul, even if I have to fight you for it, Hermione. I am the master…”

 

A digit penetrated her and Hermione squirmed, but her eyes were locked on Severus’ face.

 

“You are the student. There is nothing you have shown me so far that would make think otherwise…”

 

A shiver replaced her fear.

 

“And that is what you would like, deep down, to be a student again, isn’t it?”

 

A second digit, and together they moved in a beckoning motion that forced Hermione to grit her teeth.

 

“Isn’t it?” he asked more forcefully, his thumb pressing her clit like a magic button.

 

“Y-yes!”

 

He kissed her again, but Hermione could feel his grin against her lips even as his long fingers stroked deeper inside her body.

 

“Then, you are mine.”

 

 

 

 

 

_~Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> This was first Femdom piece, written AU, and I hope the readers enjoy!


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